


A Most Unholy Touch

by g0bliin



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Religious, Animal Death, Bondage, Catholic Guilt, Church Sex, Corruption, Demon Sex, Doubt, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Starvation, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g0bliin/pseuds/g0bliin
Summary: Byleth was never satisfied with the church.  A chance encounter with a demonic presence leaves him with more than his faith shaken.Preist/Demon AU
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know what you're here for. :)

Byleth watched over the candles, his memories of Garreg Mach dancing in the flames. The soft glow illuminating the Goddess statue above still captivated him, her graceful, guarding expression smiling down upon him like a gentle protector. He was her only audience in the monastery this evening. He thought it was merely his imagination, but Byleth swore that the Goddess’ expression soured upon this realization. Her smile flattened, lacking the warmth it always used to provide him.

Letting out a sigh, he wandered away from the candles, unsure of what to do next. His chores were completed, and the church was closed for the night. At this hour he should have made his way to his dorm, but sleep did not come to him. It was not an issue for Byleth to remain alone in the monastery.

Perhaps this was a sign of the Goddess. A test of his devotion, so to speak. She would not allow him the gift of slumber, so what was he supposed to do? Pray?

Running a tongue across his chapped lips, he decided against it. This night was nothing but prayers. As if to prompt him, his wandering gaze settled upon one of the empty confessional booths, abandoned in the corner of the room. A humorous afterthought, nevertheless Byleth found himself walking towards the booth.

He recalled his first time confessing, though he couldn’t remember what his sin was. Like many things in the monastery, the confession booths were imposing, hard to erase from the mind. It was only natural he decided to become a priest.

The overbearing wooden box threatened to swallow Byleth whole, rendering any possible escape useless. He pushed aside the velvet curtain, stepping into the booth. Meeting with silence, he settled his weary bones onto the bench, which groaned beneath his underweight body.

Silence was a constant companion, filling up around him. He sat there, lost in a sea of his thoughts, hands folded in his lap. Ready to give up and leave the monastery, he sighed once again. Lying on his bed would at least be more comfortable if he was not to sleep tonight.

Then, a footstep. A heavy step on the creaky flooring that announced its presence to Byleth.

A gasp escaped him, allowing his location to be known.

The glow of the candlelight that snuck its way underneath the curtain vanished, as if they had all been blown out by a gust. Another footstep followed, less imposing than before. It sulked too slow for Byleth. They dragged on longer than necessary. The urge to pull back the curtain and see who arrived was restrained.

An unseen, heavy weight burdened his shoulders, leaving Byleth unable to act save for the twitch of his fingers. He was forced to stay put as the presence drew near. Cold tension blossomed, his breath short.

The curtain next to him then drew back suddenly, giving him a start. He dared to not turn his head left to peer through the latticed window.

“Bless me, and dare to forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

There was a pregnant pause. The voice felt familiar, yet he had never heard it before. He wasn’t sure if the voice was even real, given how disembodied it sounded.

“I believe you are supposed to ask me what my sin was, Father. Do you remember how this works?”

“Yes,” he found his tone to be annoyed. “But when did you last confess?”

The voice rumbled into hysterical laughter, as if it was not expecting an attitude. “Oh, Father. It has been quite a number of years since my last, true confession.”

“Then what has convinced you to come to Garreg Mach tonight? Did something happen?”

“Many things have transpired to lead to this very night, Father. I have been waiting for the right moment to speak with you.”

Byleth did not respond. Gooseflesh prickled his skin, his heart’s pace quickening as if he were in danger. But this presence, this eerily-familiar presence, drew him in. Words could not describe the alluring power that swallowed him whole.

“Father? Are you still there?” The voice knew very well that Byleth had not left the booth.

“Confess your sins.” He replied abruptly.

The voice let out an exasperated sigh, as if this sin was such a bother. “I have grown to have a rather sickening obsession, Father. For years now, thoughts haunt me regarding this mortal man. What worsens this perversion is that he has never been aware of my existence. It pains my wretched heart, because I know I am already familiar to him.”

“So you have unwanted, unrequited feelings for this man?”

A silken caress brushed under his earlobe, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing up in reaction to sudden touch. “In short, yes, I believe so, Father.”

Byleth jerked his head in the direction where he was being touched, but met with a wall. He should have known he would find nothing behind him.

“My my, you seem restless tonight , Father. What has you so tense?”

He scoffed, surprised to find himself smirking at his remark. “You are confessing to me, not the other way around.”

“That’s most unfortunate, Father. I was hoping to steal a glimpse of your soul this evening,” the voice purred, amused by the sudden switch in Byleth’s mood. “I almost had you dancing around my little finger.”

On cue, a finger dragged downwards on the lattice grating. It reminded him of a knife being sharpened. A shiver went down his spine in the same manner, coercing him to allow a gasp escape his lips.

The voice grew further amused at him and let out a low chuckle. It echoed in the booth, settling deep within his memory, indelibly etched into his mind.

Byleth was far from comfortable. Every nerve and fiber in his body screamed at him to dash through the curtain. Yet shock kept him chained inside the booth. Trembling, he stayed. He was prey, accepting his fate to be devoured by the predator. Sweat dabbled on his forehead, his mouth dry and hoarse.

The voice seemed to multiply into more, swaying through the tones of feminine and masculine like a heavenly chorus, singing just for Byleth.

“Would you like to meet me, Father? Outside of the confessional booth?”

“I-I haven’t finished…” He wavered.

“Finished what?” The voices’ tone mocked the priest.

“Forgiving you,” Byleth breathed. “And your penance.”

“Ah yes. Of course I must have my penance. What shall it be then, Father?”

He opened his mouth, but found no words, dumbfounded by the notion. How does one order penance from an inhuman creature?

“Tell me more about your obsession. It may give me a better idea on how to handle you.”

“Handle me? Do you think of me as some sort of beast, Father? A demon, perhaps?” The voice hissed the last sentence, venom dripping like honey.

“If you label yourself as such, then yes, handling is a term best suited for someone like you.”

“Very well, Father. If you do believe that is best, I would kindly ask you to demonstrate exactly what you mean by handling.”

“Step out of the booth. Allow me to see you for what you really are.” His confidence faltered, but those words gave him the surge of strength he needed to face the voice.

The curtain on the other side swept open with authority, the sudden sound and movement startling Byleth as the energy in the confessional booth shifted dramatically. Once again, his body ached to leave the confessional - though this time to a different end.

Pulling back the curtain, he braced himself for the unknown. Dread kept his body afloat in a sea of anxiety.

Byleth did not expect the sight that greeted him outside the confessional.

It was plain to see that the body Byleth saw before him was as smooth and dexterous as that silken tongue had been up to this point. He was towering and lithe and ageless. His movements were serpentine and sure - cocky, even.

Demons had expensive taste, and Hubert was no exception. Byleth couldn’t help but glance down at his own humble attire, feeling woefully underdressed by comparison.

The demon’s pin-stripe suit was tailored impeccably well, fitting him like a glove. It contrasted pleasingly with his ivory skin, making him appear even paler than he already was. A black mop of hair was combed back, revealing just how inhuman his eyes were. If the eyes were a window to the soul, then his burned in a radiant, malevolent jade.

But what was most prominent, and what had caught his eye, was the horns on his head. They were gnarled branches stained black; perhaps an outward expression of his soul.

“What... are you?”

“I was once called Hubert, if you desire to address me by my mortal name.”

“What are you, Hubert?” he repeated.

Hubert smirked, those foreboding emerald orbs staring down the priest before him. “You should already know what I am.”

Byleth was taught that demons harbored all kinds of darkness, ranging from mischievous to murderous. Hubert was hard to pry apart, other than the trademark sinister playfulness. The demon had molded himself to be overall difficult.

“What do you want with me? My soul?” Byleth said, the word ‘demon’ dancing on his tongue.

The demon shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, finding humor in his questions. “Isn’t it obvious, Father Byleth? I want your soul, and you’re going to give it to me. Whether you choose to give it willingly, or I pry it from your hands, that is your decision.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not taking my soul.” He attempted to sound forceful, but his voice was barely above a whisper. It had lost itself in the scope of the room.

“Aah, but Father,” Hubert began to pace, inching closer to him. “You wanted me. You called me here tonight, deep, deep within your heart. Perhaps you weren’t aware of it, but I heard you call, and I simply heeded the summons.”

“No. No! This isn’t real,” he placed a hand on his forehead, trying to make sense of this situation. “I need sleep. This is not happening, it’s just an illusion conjured from lack of sleep. I’m leaving, and I’m going to bed.”

“Have a little faith, Father Byleth. It wounds my pride that you believe this is all a little dream.”

“Begone, Demon!” He pulled out his rosary, mumbling the Goddess’ Prayer in a fevered panic.

Hubert laughed once again in response. “Oh you idiotic priest. You truly think you have any sort of power over me? This may be the house of the Goddess, but ye of little faith are at my beck and call. Stop this nonsense.”

Byleth froze in place. Once again he had lost all movement. The rosary slipped from his fingers, discarded on the floor.

He squeezed his eyes shut, still holding on to that hopeless chance that tonight was all but a dream. His body braced itself from impact, but was met with the gentleness of a saint.

A hand, neither warm or cold, cupped his cheek.

“I’ll never bow down to the likes of you!”

“Oh? Never?” A finger began to stroke him.

“Never.”

“Such a pity. I’ve never had a soul with so much fight left in him. You really are a feisty one, aren’t you?” Hubert mused.

Byleth lurched backwards, opening his eyes. He could see no way out for himself, cornered and trapped in the monastery with this demon.

Would it be best for him to submit? Were these even his true thoughts, or had his mind already been poisoned? He had no answer for himself, as Hubert swooped forward for an embrace, pulling him close to his chest. Nestling his head, he could hear no heartbeat from the demon.

Yet he comforted him. Panic did not riddle his body, not even when hot breath tickled his earlobe.

“I have never met someone like you, Byleth.”

“Is that what you tell every priest you meet?”

Hubert laughed dryly. “Would you be surprised if I told you were my first?”

“First victim?”

“No. First...what is the right word to use?” A pause. “My first obsession. The first human I have deemed worthy of touching with my power.”

“Why me? What makes me the special one?”

“The wavering faith you have made my desires difficult to manage, so I took an interest in toying with you.”

Byleth had more questions, but remained silent. This sudden realization stunned him. Did he have a drop of faith in the first place? Or was it simply placed in his mind as torment? All that he knew is that he no longer felt worthy of the title ‘man of the cloth.’

Hubert sensed the budding despair in Byleth’s heart. His lips kissed his neck in an attempt to soothe him.

It was a mere gentle peck, but it was enough to break him.

A new strength replenished Byleth, driving him into a frenzy. He took the initiative to make the first move, leaving the embrace of Hubert to return the kiss. He was ravenous - starving for his demonic touch.

The demon was taken back by the sudden kiss, stunned just as the priest was a few moments prior. Then that smug smirk returned to his face, a glint in his eye. “Tonight, I will allow you a simple taste of what I am. It’s better for people like you to ease yourself into these sorts of things.”

He returned the smirk with his own. “I hope I am sufficient enough.”

“Now, Byleth, you’re selling yourself too short here. I’m sure you will do just fine.”

A whirlwind appeared, easily restraining Byleth. He found himself turned around, knelt down on the marble flooring, his eyes blinded by some unknown darkness. The sensation of a thousand hands groped his body, sliding underneath his clothing to grab at every inch of his flesh. Even his breath had been subjugated by Hubert’s control.

His silken touch returned, smothering Byleth’s senses and prickling his skin. It distracted him from his unbuckled belt and lowering trousers. He was too preoccupied by the assault on his mouth, the demon’s tongue circling his own.

Goddess, this was addictive. Especially for one touch-starved as he. Priesthood was barren, insofar as human contact.

“I have not tasted a priest before,” he commented, pulling away from the kiss at last. Byleth could not help but let out a whimper at its loss. “It reminds me of lamb.”

“Lamb to the slaughter…” He murmured, tilting his head back on wordless command. Teeth sunk into his weak flesh, the pain burning. He had no inclination of what ‘mark’ Hubert had mentioned, but he supposed the bite was just another one. A mark of his submission.

Something that felt like a hand seized his hardened cock, and he was unable to hold back another pathetic whimper. Usually he was not this sensitive, but it had been some time since he last masturbated.

“Now, now, Father. I can’t have you mewling about in front of the heavenly Goddess. What ever shall she think of you?”

She doesn’t.

She never had.

His sight returned, albeit blurry. He could make out the general shape of objects, but the overall details were foggy. Peering down, Byleth was able to make out that there was a hand - Hubert’s hand - on his flesh, but something had changed.

The hand was entirely black, and seemed larger than a human’s. Beast-like claws ended in a sharp point. Easily, the claws could move up and sink themselves into his belly, if the demon changed his mind. Instead they continued to cradle his cock in soft strokes.

The other claw-hand snaked itself under his jaw, moving towards his bottom lip.

“Enjoying yourself, my little pet?” Hubert purred. Byleth was so close he could hear the demon's throat vibrate.

He nodded his head. Words were hard to form. His hand moved swiftly, up and down and up and down. How can something so utterly simple feel so good from another person?

“A reminder, Byleth. I will allow you only a taste.”

“But I want more.” He whispered, desperate for more.

For the first time, Hubert hesitated. Byleth heard the demon drawing in breath, his stroking halting for a moment. It was strange to think that even creatures such as demons had limitations.

“Only a taste,” he reaffirmed, his voice more stern, squeezing his cock for emphasis. “Only a taste for tonight, hm?”

Before Byleth could try once more to beg, fingers slipped into his mouth, gagging him. The wonderful, wonderful silken touch returned to roam his body again; this time in a physical form. His eyesight still had not improved, so all he was able to make sense of was dull, black lines.

He had grown more sensitive, and it did not help how in heat he had become. His cheeks were flushed, the sweat covering his body worsening the uncomfortable warmth. The lines teased along his nipples, the innermost part of his thighs. They even wrapped around his cock to aid Hubert in his stroking.

Oh Goddess, he was going to be milked dry.

Byleth was not sure where he got the idea, but the notion to suckle on Hubert’s fingers dawned on him. A part of him felt that the demon was being too generous to him. Perhaps this could be seen as a thanks.

And it was. As a reward, Hubert quickened his stroking, yet it was enough to bring him to the edge. The urge to climax was building up in his core. He was already drowning in so much pleasure, it almost frightened him how degenerate he had become. All because of a friendly voice and touch.

“Cum for me, Father. Show your devotion to me,” Hubert breathed.

As if on cue, Byleth felt the fireworks explode, and he came onto the marble flooring. His teeth bit down on the hand, yet Hubert made no sign of pain. The lines and hand continued to move, encouraging more to come out in spurts. He was deaf to the world, ears ringing hymns in a strange tongue.

The hand removed from his mouth, he collapsed against the demon, gasping for air.

“You did very well tonight. I shall see you soon, my little pet.”

And then he was gone. The air was no longer still.

The world turned dark, and Byleth collided with the marble.

When he awoke, he was still in the monastery. Alone, thank the Goddess. Or thank luck. If he was allowed to, Byleth would have remained on the floor, enjoying some last renament of last night.

Luck would not last long. Someone would eventually walk into Garreg Mach and find him half naked and covered in his own semen. At least he was able to see again. His vision must have returned to him in his sleep.

His knees trembled as he stood up, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. Taking off his jacket, he used it to mop up the stains, then folded it up on a side that was not turned white.

Byleth didn’t turn back as he left the monastery. He couldn’t bear to see the expression of the Goddess statue any longer. Surely it would be full of anger and disappointment in him. Despite this, his heart still sang in joy. For receiving pleasure, or for finding a new purpose in life, he was not quite sure.

All he knew was Hubert had done as he promised: giving him a taste of something so sweet, that any blessing from the Goddess would turn into ash.

It was only a matter of when Hubert would return that Byleth would once again experience true devotion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long but here ya go my pretties. feast well.

Byleth peered closer into his reflection in the window, pulling back the collar of his shirt.

Mirrors were scarce around the monastery for good reason. Vanity was not a practice of good virtue, said the teachings and lectures of the higher-ups. But there were a number of rules that he had broken by now; what will breaking one more do? Settle him deeper in another layer of Hell? As if it even mattered by this point.

From Hubert’s bite, tiny, bruised veins had arisen. At first Byleth gave it no concern. Side-effects of dealing with a demon, he casually assumed. Now the veins had begun to spread downwards, rooting themselves deep within his flesh like a sprouting weed. Strange enough, he didn’t experience any sort of pain from the bite. When his fingers lingered on it, a cool sensation would jolt him upright. He would temporarily have acute senses. His sight would be sharper, taste more potent, scents clearer.

It was the opposite of that curse Hubert had placed on his eyes. Instead of blindness, he was gifted the sight of an eagle.

Out of the corner of his eye, Byleth thought he saw the gleam of emerald eyes peering from behind him. Turning his head around, all he found was empty space. What caught him off guard, however, was the twinge of disappointment in his heart. The demon  _ had promised _ to meet with him again.

Though, admittedly, he never did say when.

Whether that was intentional or not, Byleth would need the time to ponder Hubert’s actions later. Footsteps echoed from afar, growing in volume as they approached his general direction. He jolted away from the window, his pace quickening as soon as he flinched at his name being called.

“May I have a moment to speak with you?” asked the voice of Bishop Seteth. “If you are able to spare one.”

He composed himself before turning around with a thin smile. “Of course, Bishop.”

“This won’t take long. I only wanted to discuss something minor, and I’ll send you back on your way since you seemed to be in quite a rush. I do hope I am not keeping you from your duties.”

He became skittish. “Erm, not terribly so, Bishop. I can spare a moment or two, as you mentioned. I apologize that my actions prompted you to believe otherwise.”

“Very well, Father Byleth,” Bishop Seteth’s voice lowered, his head moving right towards Byleth’s ear, near the demonic bite. “I am not one to believe accusations of those without rational thought. I wanted to come to you, as you probably have a perfect explanation why this occurred.”

His stomach instantly dropped. A horrible sensation of dread slithered around his body, constricting his very soul. “Bishop, I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“In one of the churches,” the Bishop swallowed, his eyes lowering. “A scoundrel has desecrated the face of the Goddess statue. The paint from her face had been removed. Completely wiped clean from the wood.”

Byleth instantly knew who did it, and he silently cursed at the demon.

“Now, I know this may seem absolutely preposterous. Inconceivable even, but, Father Byleth, did you have any part in the destruction of the Goddess?” He continued.

“No,” he replied a little too quickly. “Apologizes for the hasty response, but I am just utterly  _ shocked  _ that someone would do something so awful to the Goddess statue.”

The Bishop moved away from Byleth, smiling to himself as if he knew it folly to bring up accusations against him. “The only reason I must question you, is that days prior to this event, Father Ferdinand had noticed that you had left the church at dawn earlier this week. He claimed that he heard animalistic noises before seeing you come out.”

“I was merely praising the Goddess for her miracles,” he said, for he would need a hell of a miracle to remove himself clean from this mess. “I was not given the voice of an angel, but relating it to an animal screech is quite a stretch. I will sing quieter next time, as to ease any worries that Father Ferdinand might have.”

“Very well. I will relay what you had said to me to the other Bishops, and to your colleague. I’m glad to hear that it was all simply a misunderstanding. For now, Father, I would advise you to stick to the prayer rooms of your dorm for the time being. At least until we are able to capture the man who did this despicable act.”

Byleth did not respond except for a bow, listening to the footsteps of Bishop Seteth wax fainter and farther away until they were out of earshot. Only then did he allow himself to grow weak in the knees and fall to the ground, letting out a sigh of relief.

It had to be the luck of the demon on his side. Seteth would never be that idiotic to be so earnest and believe his flimsy words. The Bishop didn’t even  _ like _ Byleth when he first arrived years ago. What could have possibly changed his feelings towards him other than the influence of Hubert?

He stood back up as quickly as his trembling legs would allow him, acting not unlike newborn livestock. Kneeling in the middle of the hallway would only prompt more questions to be asked and the suspicion to continue on. Instead of going to the dining hall, he opted to return to his dorm. He was far too anxious to eat or drink, and needed some rest after such an ordeal.

Despite the outcome being in his favor, Byleth felt the pangs of guilt. Although he didn’t like the Bishop, he could not help but feel bad for him. If the blame was to be shifted to him, Seteth would be partially to blame for allowing the suspect to lie to his face. He would face scorn from the others, branded as too naive.

Then again, Byleth didn’t like Bishop Seteth. Why should he care so much for what would happen to the old man? It may serve him right for his unresolved anger towards him.

He managed to make it back to his dorm, the silence of the room gladly welcomed. Making his way towards his bed, he flopped on top of it, the mattress sinking beneath his weight. If he had the choice, he would have chosen a much firmer mattress. Something about feathers and straw did not provide nearly enough comfort. Was back pain a sign of repentance?

He turned to face the wall, but instead found himself face to face with Hubert. The demon sat upright, his head resting on the palm of his hand as he studied Byleth. His eyes wandered away from the Father’s, straying towards the bite on his neck.

“That’s getting rather nasty-looking. Wouldn’t you agree?” he simply commented.

Byleth held back how startled he was by the demon’s presence, bristling backwards on the bed. “What do you want?”

“Oh, and a ‘how do you do’ to you too, Father. I only wanted to check up on how my favorite little human was faring,” he snapped back sarcastically, analyzing the nails of his other hand. “But I suppose I should visit another time, when you are less grumpy.”

“No!” He found himself reaching for the demon’s hand. “Please, stay a bit.”

Hubert tsked, allowing his hand to be held for a moment before he wretched it away. “You’re fickle, pet.”

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to lash out like that. It was only because of the Bishop bothering me about something.”

“Oh yes!” He jumped up, resting his gloved hands on his lap. Today’s outfit was still a suit, but it was completely white instead of the pinstripes. Underneath the blazer was a woolen black turtleneck. “That was my doing. A little joke I meant to do on the night I met you, but I had forgotten about it. We were preoccupied with other matters.”

Surprisingly, Byleth didn’t feel resentment towards Hubert. Part of him knew that the demon had some part in vandalizing the Goddess statue, but he felt vindicated that his assumptions were correct. It was evidence that he had not gone mad and imagined the whole thing. No, it was all very real.

And, perhaps more importantly to Byleth, the pleasures of that night could be repeated.

“I almost got caught,” he found himself saying, breaking out of his own thoughts. “But I don’t know if it was you, or some miracle, but the Bishop no longer believed it was me.”

“Bishop Seteth, correct?”

He blinked. “How do you know about him?”

Hubert pursed his lips. “We have some...  _ history _ . The whole debacle is extremely messy, and I would rather not discuss it further.” He somehow moved behind Byleth, gripping his nails into the crook of his neck. “I would rather talk with you. I’d say you deserve a treat after such trickery.”

He agreed with a nod, leaning his head back to rest on his chest, as the demon moved quickly to unbutton his pet’s shirt, running a newly transformed claw down the skin.

Byleth let out a shaky gasp. He did not realize just how starved he was for the demon’s touch, just how easily he could switch to a mewling puddle of nothing. His mind was so enraptured by the touching and groping of his body that he did not realize he had been fully stripped of his clothing. Hubert removed the white blazer and all Byleth could see now was the darkness of the sweater, his fingers twitching to paw the knitted wool. It sat, folded neatly on the bed.

He reached out to touch Hubert, but the demon grabbed his wrists. “No touching yet.”

“Not even a kiss?” Byleth whimpered more than he liked.

He sighed, mumbling something in a foreign tongue that could be assumed a playful scolding. Hubert lifted the priest’s head by his chin and planted a kiss on his lips. Byleth thanked him by displaying how he had craved the demon.

It was some time since their first encounter, and such wondrous things do not simply fade from memory.

His head was leaned to the side and Hubert tutteted like a mother hen. “You still aren’t fully ready for me, but you are strong enough to handle more.”

“More? More of what?”

“This.”

A slithering, lithe tentacle wrapped itself around Byleth’s waist in thick coils, squeezing him tightly as he was lifted into the air. His first reaction was to wriggle himself free, but the tentacle only tightened more. “W-what is this, demon?!”

Hubert stared at him like he was the one with tentacles. “I just said that it was  _ more _ . You need to understand the consequences of what you’ve thrown yourself into, Father.”

He did not reply, nor could he, due to being thrown back on the ground, forced into a bowing position. His palms were folded in prayer, knees tucked under his belly. A tentacle slowly drifted down the curve of his back, stopping once it reached his ass. It lightly smacked each cheek in little pecks. Smacking was too harsh a word for how gentle the pats were.

Byleth felt himself harden; whether due to receiving touch from Hubert, or enjoying getting spanked, he did not know. A flush of embarrassment crept on his face, ashamed of himself for being this aroused.

He took back his thoughts when suddenly a thwack drew the breath out of him, lurching his body forward. His hands clawed the hardwood flooring as he gasped for air desperately. The tentacle dragged him back to his original spot - though he did not fight it like before.

It was then that Byleth noticed all the light from his bedroom had been drained. It was transported into a different dimension; most likely insurance that no one would discover them. Or, ostensibly worse, a lone, sinful priest, naked on the floor.

The windows to the outside revealed nothing. If he were to get a closer look, he would have found nothing but darkness. Swirling shadows encompassed every crevice. Incense thickened the air heavy with the scent of burning wood and mulled wine. The floor beneath him was inscribed with fresh chalk marks. At first, they appeared to be scribbles, but this was a demon he was dealing with.

All of his choices had been deliberate. Hubert would not commit meaningless acts.

He arched his back and gasped as a cool claw ghosted over the mark left by the tentacle. “So eager, so _ pathetically impatient _ ,” the demon hissed.

“Yes.” Byleth’s heart leaped to his throat. So many nights wishing, dreaming of meeting Hubert again. It was enough to make a man go mad. Perhaps he already  _ was _ mad.

“I pray that you appreciate my love for you, Father.”

“Of course I do,” answered Byleth’s trembling voice.

A freezing, jelly-like substance suddenly encased his cock, his body reacting in spasms. If that was not enough sensory overload, he felt a finger enter him, coated in the substance. His head bolted upright, but an unseen force restricted movement.

He should have known. The message was clear from the first meeting when he lost his vision.

Byleth was not allowed to witness what was happening. He was allowed to do nothing, not even to observe the reveal of a demon violating his body with otherworldly pleasures.

He found himself lulling into a drooling, dream-like state, his mind hazy and corrupted with the sensation of Hubert fingering him. His voice was unrecognizable as animalistic grunts overtook his speech. He had been drawn towards the edge several times at this point, but he would not be allowed to cum. The jellylike encasement sealed that away, leaving all control to Hubert.

“Virgins are so overdramatic,” he thought he heard Hubert mumble while adding a third finger.

“Please, Hubert.” He begged hoarsely.

“Soon enough, my pet.” His ear was tickled by hot breath, and he shuddered. A small action brought him to the brink, but nothing happened. Only pleasurable pain. “I am only making sure you aren’t terribly injured.”

Byleth was about to ask what, but he already knew the answer.

The fingering stopped, the jelly leaked out of him, dripping down his inner thighs and onto the floor. He heard the familiar noise of pants unzipping. A claw - no, a  _ hand _ \- rested gently on his hip. A pregnant pause, a moment of reprieve, before the sensation of something inhuman entered him. It was far too large to be inside of him, yet it was able to sink in with ease.

Hubert had buried himself quite nicely.

“You are  _ mine _ , Byleth.” His tone was ravenous, ardent passion burning fiercely in his throat.

“I am yours.” Byleth echoed.

His weak body pulsated as the demon began at a slow pace. It was difficult to determine where, but it felt the pulses most strongly by his bite wound. Sparks invaded every nerve, his senses deteriorating. The blurriness returned, his hearing dull, but Byleth could still feel Hubert  _ fucking  _ him. Beyond grateful, he was absolutely blessed to be chosen by this demon. The devotion for him raised his hopes, and gave him a purpose in this life.

He did not simply exist to be an amusement for others. He was acknowledged by an entity that understood his worth, cherished him for being alive.

Hubert would not abandon him as the Goddess had.

Byleth praised him in a cacophony of utter nonsense that mixed with moans. Though he couldn’t even recognize what he was saying, he hoped the demon would understand how thankful he was.

His soul drifted out of his heart, traveling upwards to peer at the both of them. He saw Hubert struggling, black liquid dripping from his lips. The demon gripped Byleth’s hair, jerking his head backwards at an awkward angle.

“You’re not escaping me,” he growled, his thrusting quickening. Sweat coated the Father’s entire body, his grip on reality drowning further. Pressure began to build up in his skull. Something was trying to break free from blood, bone, and flesh.

The chalk patterns moved as though underwater, floating and breathing in and out of sync with Byleth. He glanced at his hands and was not shocked to see the wooden floorboards traveling up to his skin, imprinting the pattern on his flesh. If only he could comprehend all this havoc that wrecked his body instead of turning into a pile of mush. His mind was splitting from pure ecstasy, his grip on reality draining with every thrust driven into him.

The build-up was worse than before. He craved,  _ needed _ release.

If he heard the sound of trumpets and the Goddess’ fury thundering from the Heavens, allowing fire to flood the dirt of the Earth, so be it. He would not, nor could he, move away from his demon. Byleth would not be able to hear them anyway.

The pace quickened, Hubert’s thrusting became more rigid, his breath ragged and wheezing like his own. His claws sunk into Byleth’s soft skin, scraping long, jagged lines across his back. “Take it. Take my love.”

And Byleth did.

A warm substance filled him whole. It felt alien, more so than the jelly encasement. The seed of Hubert did not belong in his body. It dribbled to the floor, the chalk glowing faintly underneath. As he pulled himself out of Byleth, the priest gasped. He too, was climaxing, albeit more pathetically than Hubert. He came on the floor, his body shuddering and trembling the entire time.

“Oh dear, I may have been too cruel to you, Father,” Hubert purred affectionately. The zipper resealed, and his head was caressed. “And with the pain of your new horns growing in, you’ll certainly be sore for quite some time.”

“Huh-horns?” His mouth was dry, the sound of his normal voice rang crisp and clear. Panic replaced bliss.  _ Horns?! _

He flipped onto his back to view the demon. His face appeared sharper, the skin tighter as if it were being pulled taut over his skull.

Hubert shook his head at Byleth’s confusion. “Father, I must confess I have not been entirely truthful to you.”

The sunlight leaked back into the room, sunrays barely an inch away from him, but still felt a great distance away.

“What are you doing to me? What have you  _ done _ to me, demon?!”

The demon only tilted his head with a heavy sigh, stroking a claw on his cheek.

“I’m sorry, Byleth.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a nice fat chonky boy as a gift for your patience, dear reader. i did not expect this chapter to spiral into the length it is now, but here we are. i believe we are nearing the end soon. as most of my plot bunnies, it escalates into something far more than i can handle, however, this one was kind of clear in my head. i have an idea of how it ends.
> 
> warning, this chapter is dense, and has more sensitive subjects than the usual chapters. 
> 
> otherwise, please enjoy. thank you for the kudos, comments, bookmarks, hits, and subscriptions. i would love to hear more from you guys !!!!

Ferdinand’s hand hovered over the door, fist tightened. Hesitation kept him still. A strange bout of nerves fluttered in his belly. Perhaps he was overthinking, conjuring lavish fantasies in his head. 

Nobody had seen Byleth for at least five days, but there had to be a logical reason as to why. If he was ill, then of course it made sense to isolate himself in his room to prevent the others from catching his sickness. And even if he wasn’t physically ill, it would have been perfectly fine for him to need the time alone for prayer and reflection.

Everyone had a bad day now and again. If Byleth had told someone he needed time alone, it would not have caused an issue. What  _ did  _ was the sudden disappearance and shielding from the outside world.

Balancing the tray in one hand, Ferdinand politely knocked on the door. There was no verbal response. A thud from the bed, then the shuffling of feet waltzing towards the door, finally opening to a thin slit. Byleth had wrapped his body in blankets, hooding his face except for the faintest glimpse of a bloodshot eye. A hand rose and he coughed into it. The poor man was obviously not faring well.

Why didn’t he tell anyone he was sick? After this meal delivery, he must tell the Bishop about Byleth’s condition. He looked like he was going to keel over and die if nobody intervened.

Ferdinand would have insisted on bringing Byleth to the Church’s meager hospital immediately, but stiff tension held him back. Stillness crept in the air, the thickness suffocating. His stomach dropped at the sight of him, and he didn’t know why.

He had shaken hands with the lepers and clasped hands with some of the Goddess’ ugliest creations with a cheerful grin. He did not falter to the deepest cesspits and scum spots of the World. He was not ignorant to the worst of the worst. 

But the man in front of him -  **_Byleth_ ** . It unsettled him deep in his very soul. 

“Father Byleth!” Ferdinand stiffly beamed. “Are you feeling any better?”

The figure remained still, his entire body shivering. This sickness must have made him terribly weak if he could barely stand. 

“All I need is rest, and I should be fine. I should be...” His voice trailed off, unable to believe his own pathetic lie. His gaze lingered on the tray, rolling upwards towards Ferdinand. “I thank you for bringing that.”

“It’s not a problem. You would do the same for me.”

“Would I really?”

“Father Byleth, I am not quite sure what you mean,” his tone puzzled. What a terribly strange question to ask. A fever must be diverting all rational thought. He sounded like a madman.

“Father Ferdinand, the question does not need much time to mull over.” Each word was a struggle, syllables straining to push themselves out of his lips. “Would I really?”

“Of course you would!” Ferdinand forced his enthusiasm through his teeth.

“ _ Would I really _ ?” A growl drew out the last word, rumbling deep from his throat.

Ferdinand’s mouth went dry. His question pierced through him. Something was wrong. Something was dreadfully wrong. His body screamed that something was wrong, seeping from his pores. Panic grew every second, pounding against his ribcage. His eyesight began to blur at the edges, all his attention focusing on the man in front of him.

Something was  _ wrong _ . 

He had to leave. He must leave.

But that doubt held him back, like a leash jerking his neck to go one way when he wanted to run the opposite direction. He wanted to leave so badly, his body ready to move. Yet he stayed. An invisible force kept him complicitly frozen to the floorboards beneath his feet. He had become a statue.

“I seem to have upset you, Father Byleth.” His voice was barely holding onto the strands of stability. The slightest tremble could not be heard. “Perhaps I will return another time. When you are feeling better.”

“ _ No _ !” The growl returned. The figure drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. Composing himself to behave more like a human. “No. Stay, please. Please, don’t go. The water. I would like to drink the water, please.”

Ferdinand would have handed it to him, but Byleth was too eager, snatching the pitcher off the tray. His arm emerged from the blanket and Ferdinand did all he could to not let out a gasp.

His skin had turned a dark, ghastly yellow; his veins protruded, thick, black, and pumping Goddess-knows-what through his weak body. The tips of his fingers were burnt to rawness, the nails pried off. Nothing was left except the fleshy nail beds they once covered. A faint stench of sulfur permeated the air.

“Byleth…” He had to acknowledge the severity of his colleague’s strange ailment. While he was gawking at his disfigured arm, Byleth had turned to the side, gulping down the water until he sputtered, wheezing and hacking. Wet spots dampened the blanket. The man was going to drown himself if he didn’t slow down. His body heaved, lungs gasping for breath like a dying animal.

“Byleth.”

He did not answer. His breathing had turned into a guttural whimper.

“BYLETH!” Ferdinand roared as he stumbled forward, allowing the tray to fall, and slammed the door fully open with his arm. The noise may lure others, but he didn’t care. He had to save his colleague – his  _ friend _ .

Byleth shrieked at the light, running back into the darkness of his room to avoid it. He dropped the pitcher. The porcelain shattered into pieces around him, water pooling in between the floorboards. He was successful in his attempt to reach out towards Byleth, grabbing him by the wrist.

Suddenly a searing, fiery pain shot up his arm and he was forced to let go. Something - no. This wasn’t human. This could not be explained by reasons of the Earth. 

This was the work of demons. It was the only reasonable answer to this sudden madness. Memories of the lessons regarding demons flashed into his head. The signs of a demonic possession included a ghastly change of appearance, an aggressive shift in behavior, craving the shadows, and a thorough rejection of the Church: crosses, the light, prayer.

Ferdinand held his injured arm to his chest, glancing at the door, then to Byleth. He made a mad dash towards it. Fear roared alongside his heartbeat. He had to run. He needed to be faster. He must be swift.

He needed to reach the Bishop and inform him that demons had invaded the body of Byleth.

The pain worsened with each step but he made it. He made it back to the light, the wonderful light. Ferdinand found himself surprised that he was not pursued. He remained in the shadows, shivering more than he had before. Only when he closed the door did Byleth lash out.

He clawed at the door, wriggling the knob and banging on it. Ferdinand tied his rosary around the knob as best as he could. It hung loosely. When Byleth tried once again he mewled a pathetic wail.

An eye for an eye, he supposed.

No one had heard their brief scuffle. Either that was a terrible thing, or good. They were ignorant of the horrific situation that was beyond the door.

Ferdinand panted, sweat dripping down his forehead. The adrenaline flowed through him, giving him a newfound strength. Danger was still afoot. It was not over yet.

He ran, calling out to anyone who could hear him. Perhaps he was foolish to scream out like this, exposing himself to the danger of the demons. Perhaps this was his only chance to save Byleth from a damnable fate.

“Somebody, please, help! Help! Get the Bishop! Get Bishop Seteth!  _ Bishop Seteth _ !!!”

* * *

Hubert tsked, crossing his arms and shaking his head with disapproval. “Look what you have done now.” The demon had been watching the fallout in the shadows with quite the amused look. Only when Ferdinand had gone did he decide to show his physical form.

Anger rose in Byleth. “Look what  _ I  _ have done?!” He would have lunged at the demon but knew it would be meaningless. His body was pathetic and his head throbbed. He remained huddled in the corner, glaring at him. “You cursed me, you wretched demon.” 

“Oh, no no no no! I  _ blessed _ you, Father.” His grin was venomous. “There is a significant difference between the two.” 

“Blessing or curse, all I know is that I am constantly suffering - at your hands.” He coughed and winced as he spoke. His chest was sore from the constant coughs.

Hubert padded over, kneeling beside him. He moved the blanket away from his face, gloves hands cupping his freezing skin. “Now now, pet. The pain will only be temporary.” 

Byleth jerked his head away, averting his gaze to stare at the broken porcelain. “Don’t touch me.” The demon gently pulled him back to face him, fingers squishing his cheeks in a firm grasp, and his gaze met his, staring deeply into his bloodshot eyes. 

“Soon you’ll be beautiful like me. Well, almost,” he said, before planting a delicate peck on his chapped lips. It sent shivers through Byleth, and he was unable to hold back a groan. The anger bubbling drained out as quickly as it came.

“Am I not beautiful now in my metamorphosis?” Byleth whispered. He loathed how he was nothing more than putty in the demon’s hands.

Every part of his brain was carefully picked and pulled apart all for the demon’s play. The more it continued, the more he felt the fight leave him. Things were supposed to be this way. How silly of Byleth to forget.

“It’s similar to when you humans go through puberty,” Hubert explained. “The ugliness comes forth, purifying the body in the most disgusting way it can. Allowing it to adjust to the change before the swan emerges. Right now you are quite an ugly duckling.”

“Is it because of who I am? Part of the church?” 

He paused. “Not sure.” His words did not convince Byleth.

“You...you don’t have to lie to me, demon.  _ Hubert _ . You don’t have to lie to the human you have unwanted, unrequited feelings for.” His voice low, growling. “Do you remember telling me that?” The anger returned, a hundred times more fiery, boiling over. Fuming, Byleth howled, muscles straining. The veins on his face throbbed, his teeth growing. The horns protruding his skull pierced through the bone. Everywhere, every _ thing _ hurt. It hurt so badly he was going to scream. 

The pain had to stop. He had to attack Hubert for it to go away, to make it stop. 

_ Lunge towards the demon.  _

_ Lunge towards the demon. Lunge towards the demon and sink your rotten teeth into the perfect flesh.  _

_ Lunge lunge lunge lunge lunge.  _

_ Mash mash, gnash gnash. Chew, pull, spit. Spit it all out.  _

_ Taste it, taste all the glory before it had gone away and there was nothing left but a pulp of tissue and bones. _

Byleth blinked. 

He barely held himself on hands and knees, a blanket half drooped over his naked body. He was panting. His face was sick and throat burning. Beneath him was a pile of vomit. Was it his doing? He didn’t have time to wonder. 

The door opened. The light came. The burning, awful, itchy itchy light that should never ever exist. Ever. He liked the dark better. His skin was cooler and it didn’t sting his eyes. It didn’t hurt. It soothed the pain.

“See you soon, Father.” Hubert had gone, only leaving his voice behind. A taunt. A punishment for a crime he did not remember committing. 

Byleth felt the hands of a human grip his hair at the roots. He smelled them entering. Something was placed on his forehead and he screamed, every fiber of his soul and muscle fighting back against this. More strange objects were placed on his twisting arms, paralyzing him once he was forced onto his knees. 

The invaders spoke; he could sense their words, yet was unable to understand. His ears picked up on syllables and vowels, but they were complete gibberish.. He knew those words once. 

The one placed on his chest was the worst. His heart molded around it, he  _ felt _ it skipping beats. The object sunk lower on his skin, branding him like cattle. Byleth had the mark of the demon. What did this one mean? 

Stabbing pulses came in wave after wave of excruciating pain. When he wasn’t babbling, his jaw clenched until he heard his molars crack under the pressure. 

He growled, he pleaded, he repented. Words fell out of his cracked, bruised lips until he was incoherent. 

Nothing relented their cruelty. Nothing helped. They did not show mercy on him. 

And Byleth fell further into the nightmare. 

* * *

By the time he woke, Byleth found himself trapped in a musty prison cell. Thick chains were locked around his wrists, the length of them just enough to allow him to stand and walk a short distance. When he neared the metal bars, he was just too far away to grasp them. All he could do was helplessly paw at the air. A straw mattress was his bed. A bucket in the corner for obvious reasons.

His clothes had been taken and, while Byleth was unconscious, someone dressed him in what felt like a potato sack. Further inspection of the fabric told him that it was made out of horsehair. It was unbearable, uncomfortably warm, and irritated his skin if he did not move a certain way.

Once a day, a priest brought him a pitcher of herb-scented water and a loaf of chewy bread. Barely acknowledging him, they dropped a fresh tray of his meal before taking the other with no complaint. They never uttered a word, simply darting into his cell and out like ghosts.

Brown robes adorn their bodies, crosses, and runes embroidered with silver thread all over in a precise pattern. Staring at the embroidery too long made him sick to his stomach and a bile coat on his tongue, ruining his taste buds. This sensation would pass once he averted his gaze. Thick hoods covered their faces so he was unable to recognize them. Their hands too were covered by leather gloves.

Byleth found himself staring at the gloves more often than he liked. He yearned for that familiar touch. 

Instead of a window, there was a cross engraved into the cobblestone. The lines wobbled, runes also etched around it in an oval shape, but it was hard to tell what they all said. The cross was just out of reach too, though Byleth wanted to be nowhere near it. If he were to veer too closely to the wall, his frail body would begin to spasm uncontrollably, too much to handle all at once.

For the first time in a while, he ached for precious sunlight. For it to not sting his skin when he flexed his fingers in its warm rays; to kiss them instead. Heal his broken body and restore what he once had. Soothe him like the darkness did.

Byleth was no longer human. He had the shape of once, but he was certainly not a human anymore.

He was not a demon either. He had transformed into some wretched  _ thing _ that sat between the two. Undefined. Not classified by the laws of man or nature. Something new and unknown and dangerous.

His raw, weakened body was depleted of what he once was and now was this hollowed out creature crying for his mother. Scars riddled his body as much as the veins, left over from the figures that dragged him down to this pit. The horns that had just grown on his head had been sawed off while he was unconscious. Little nubs were all that was left. His skin was still yellow, his nails black, and the veins took over his body as time passed. They trailed all over, nearly covering his face.

The first few nights in his new cell, he had wept for Hubert to come save him from this torment, to take him someplace far away where they could be together. He could finish what he started, instead of remaining stuck in this hellish purgatory. He was so sorry for not realizing the gift that Hubert bestowed upon him; his love, his touch, his care. What a fool he was!

But the demon never came.

Not even his voice invaded Byleth’s dreamless slumber. Hubert had completely abandoned him.

The demon was probably bored of the priest now and found someone else to share his gift with. Someone who would not get caught so easily. Someone who was grateful. He was slow to accept this. When his mind wandered to think of the demon, Byleth found his eyes brimming with tears. Despite the abandonment, he so dearly missed the demon. 

He relived their nights of passion, playing the events over in his bed, desperately remembering every single detail. If he forgot a single one, Byleth crumpled up. Over time, he did. And no longer did he fight the decomposition of his thoughts.

His only companion was the straw bed where he remained during the day, barely moving except to eat and piss. Any kind of movement became difficult. The herb-water was the only sustenance he craved. If he tried to eat the daily bread that was brought, it only tasted like ash in his mouth, already putrid and moldy. The bones on his body became more prominent. His skeleton wanted to escape this horrific fate too. Sometimes Byleth thought about counting them, seeing how many he could count before he was a corpse.

Byleth tightly curled up into a ball when he woke up, knees on his chest, and prayed for something to hear him. No demons, no Goddesses or Saints. Something like him, stuck in between Heaven and Hell that can relieve his misery.

There was no more joy in his life. Time was lost. He no longer remembered how many days he was here. It had felt like many. His mind was too hazy to remember to do so, and with being trapped with no sun, he had no idea of what hour it was. His mornings and evenings were when the priests brought his meals. They became his sun and moon. 

No stimulation, no conversation, not even the fucking Bible was left - absolutely nothing to keep his mind occupied other than his own thoughts. And those thoughts now were about death, the fear of what the Church would do next should they remember he existed in this cell. Byleth wondered why the Church deigned to keep him alive. He was too far gone by now. They should have just killed him when they had the chance. All life was precious, but apparently his was not.

One night (or day?), a sound awoke him. He stirred, back faced towards the cell bars. Some kind of scratching noise was behind him, near where his food tray was. Whatever it was, it squeaked. Turning around, Byleth was confronted by a fat rat eating his loaf of bread. Unbothered, he was going to return to sleep and leave it alone. The bread would actually be eaten this time instead of being wasted.

But his stomach growled. His mouth watered. He suddenly had a craving for meat. The rat smelled of daisies and life. He wanted it. He wanted to nibble on the rat with his hands, like it was on the bread. He wanted to be greedy.

With the last bit of strength he had, Byleth carefully meandered towards the rat, crawling on his hands and knees. The chains clinked as he moved, but the rat was not easily spooked. It was too preoccupied with the bread.  _ Good _ . Byleth thought he heard his heartbeat drumming in his ears, only to realize that it was the rat’s.

_ Pitter patter. Pitter patter. Pitter patter.  _

He was close. It wasn’t going to be long now. A swoop of his hand and the rat was squeaking to be free. His jaw unhinged. Crunch.

Byleth eyes rolled back from how delicious the rat was. The taste was indescribable; otherworldly. It was the best meal he had in ages. Nothing dry like bread, or the meager soups the Church kitchens served the priests. He had meat. He had swallowed life and it succumbed to his hunger, restoring the soul. Byleth could still hear the rat’s heartbeat if he listened carefully – like they had merged into one.

The rest of the day, Byleth found himself more active. He was pacing back and forth in the cell, his mind clearing from the haze. He could think like a rational person. There were thoughts racing in his mind. He had the energy to count his bones  _ and _ the filthy straw that scattered about the floor. When he neared the cross, Byleth did not falter so quickly. He was able to get just close enough to decipher one rune.

Hope.  _ Hope _ .

Hope is what Byleth had.

This rat had restored some part of him and made him an intelligent being again. The life flowed through his veins, wildly pulsating. His lungs did not rattle, his skin a little less disgusting. Byleth ran a hand through his brittle hair and noticed the slight growth in his horns. The sawed-off, flat surface of the horn had a dull point.

His metamorphosis began to commence once again.

Then he realized something that sent him back into the throes of depression. This feeling wasn’t going to last long. It was all temporary. When the rat was fully digested in his body, it would weaken once more. Not many more would venture to his cell. This rat stumbling upon his cell was pure chance. A tease. The next one may come too late. He’d return to the state of a pathetic, dying creature. The meat prolonged his life, but meaninglessly.

Byleth sat on his bed, letting out a heavy sigh. What was he to do? Simply asking the priests for meat might raise suspicion. They never responded to him anyway, when he dared to speak to them. Cannibalizing himself was out of the question.

All this excitement tired him. He had to savor life and use it well, before it was drained out of his body. His eyes fluttered closed before his head hit the straw. 

Byleth thought he felt his cheek being stroked. A breeze, or just dreaming of praise from Hubert? 

An argument woke him up from sleep. He peeped an eye open, vision blurry but he was able to make out two figures. There were never two at once. Always one.

They wore the same attire as the priests that delivered food. Their voices were familiar, but he couldn’t remember who they belonged to. Byleth hadn’t heard someone speak to him in ages. His own voice was probably lost.

“He’s dying! Isn’t there something we should do instead of wait for him to die? We can send word to the Archbishop. They certainly know how to deal with demons.” One whispered sharply.

“Father Byleth is no longer redeemable in the eyes of the church. We have tried to cleanse him but the demon’s grip on his mortal body and soul is too strong. That  _ thing _ rotting in that cell is empty of all humanity,” the other hissed.

“So we’re going to give up on him and let him die.” There was some shuffling, then a pause. Byleth was not sure what had happened. Hearing their words, he was not going to let them know he was awake.

“I am sorry, Father Ferdinand, but the Church can no longer provide care. All we can do now is hope that his passing is peaceful and painless.”

“Starvation is not a peaceful or painless death. If this was anyone else, they would have saved him. They would have done more than holy water and a handful of prayers.”

“Byleth was a respected member of this Church. I had no qualms with him until he decided to taint his mortal soul by consorting with demons.”

“Have you not thought that the demon may have lured him? It may have convinced him to do what he has done, rather than the other way around?”

“ _Enough of this foolishness_ ,” Bishop Seteth roared. “I will allow you grace since you are naive to what a demon is capable of, and Byleth was your colleague, but I will no longer hear any more of this. You are forbidden from entering the cell from this moment on.”

“Bishop - !”

“I said  _ ENOUGH _ !”

A pause. Ferdinand drew in a breath. “May I least have a final prayer over Byleth? A parting gift so his soul can be soothed.”

Another pause. 

Then a hesitant sigh from Seteth. 

“Five minutes. That is all I will grant you.”

“I thank you, Bishop, for being so generous.”

The Bishop did not respond, leaving Ferdinand behind in the prison cell with Byleth. He knelt on the ground, his hands folded in his lap as he murmured a gentle prayer.

Byleth stared with one eye open, his rusty mind conjuring an idea. He had to plan carefully, else it would turn into shambles and he would truly end up dead. This was his last chance to return to the arms of Hubert. It almost felt that this was all planned by the demon: the rat, the cure, the fight. This was not all pure coincidence.

His first course of action was to prey upon Ferdinand’s trust, coax him into speaking with him. Convince him that he was faring better, and that the light was coming back to his body. He would have thought about it more, had his chain not moved and drew Ferdinand’s attention.

He glanced up from his prayers, letting out a gasp at the sight of Byleth. “You-- You’re awake!”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I am awake.” It startled him that his voice had become so hoarse from not speaking.

“Praise the Goddess! She has granted you a miracle, Byleth.” Ferdinand sat up, running towards the cell door. “I have to go tell the Bishop this good news!”

“No!” Byleth held back his contempt. If the Bishop were to know of his sudden wellness, it would only bring more trouble. Bishop Seteth just stated he did not care if he was alive or not.

“No,” his voice was much softer. “Not yet.”

Ferdinand frowned. “Why not? The Bishop can help you recover from your ailment.” He hesitated to say ‘ailment’, almost not wanting to address that he was under a demonic possession.

“Bishop Seteth wants me dead.” Byleth lowered his head, wrapping his arms around his body. “I heard him. And I heard you. The moment you leave and go tell him that I am better, he will try to kill me.” He whispered, “He terrifies me. Am I not another soul to be saved, Ferdinand?”

“Of course, of course, but -”

“Please, Ferdinand.” Byleth made a pathetic attempt at reaching out towards him, the chains holding him back. “Please help me get better.”

He did not respond, only lowering his hood to reveal his face, brow furrowed in deep thought. “You asked me a question on the day I found you. Right before everything became, well, the way they are now. You had asked me, ‘Would you do the same for me?’ and I had no answer since it is one of those questions that cannot be answered quickly. At least, in that circumstance. If you merely had a cold, then my answer would be ‘Yes.’”

“But because it was the work of demons that put me in my state, I assume your answer will be no.”

“No. My answer is still the same. ‘Yes.’” He rubbed his temples. “On that day, I believed that what I did was good. You were going to die.”

Byleth held his tongue, nails digging into his palms. Nails? He peered down. Nubby, black nails replaced the bare spots of her fingernails. Claws were growing! Containing his excitement, he looked back up. Fortunately, Ferdinand hadn’t noticed anything in his self-pitying. 

“I am not upset at you for what you had to do, Ferdinand.” He lied. Once his strength returned he was going to bring him down to Hell and torment him just as cruelly as this torture had been.

“It guilts me that this is what the Church was doing. I really had no idea  _ this  _ is what their treatment was. A measly cross, bread, holy water. The Church refused to tell me anything else.” Ferdinand nearly spat, the bitterness growing. “I want to redeem myself, Byleth. I want to help you get well and once again become a member of the Church, to feel the Goddess’ love in your heart.”

Byleth was a fool. This was not going to work. He would report him to the Bishop and something worse than death would be his fate. “Are you going to tell them?”

“ _ No _ .”

If he could sing, he might have sung a thousand songs of praise for this man. Perhaps he wouldn’t kill him after all. “Then what are you going to do? I’m sure there will be someone ensuring you cannot visit me anymore. Time may be running short now.”

“I will think of something. I promise you that, Byleth.” Ferdinand reached through the bars, grabbing Byleth’s hands without hesitation. “I will return when I can. Try to eat some bread and have that restore some of your stamina. When I do come, I’ll bring more than that.”

“Can you bring fish?” Fish was safe to bring as it was plentiful on the grounds, more than meat. It would not be fresh and likely cooked, but it may just be enough to survive on.

Ferdinand smiled at his request. “I’ll bring a whole feast for you if I can.”

“I cannot thank you enough.” Byleth glanced at the door. “You must go now. Please, hurry back when you can.”

“I will.” He let his hands go, leaving a lingering stare at Byleth before he stood up. “You are always in my prayers.”

“I’ll pray for you too, Ferdinand.”

The cell door opened and closed. Byleth was alone once again, silence his only companion. He was dumbfounded at the naivety of Ferdinand and how gullible he was. His poor treatment by the Church only made things that much simpler for him. Maybe he’d thank the Bishop for leaving him to die. Nobody could have predicted that a rat showing up in his cell caused the downfall of his precious Church.

He relaxed on his straw bed, staring at the ceiling as he had done so many times. He almost heard the echo of Hubert’s laughter in his ears. The demon would have praised how cunning he acted, egging him on to manipulate Ferdinand completely to do his bidding. If Byleth had more power, then certainly.

Every demon needed a human toy.

He flexed his bony hands, admiring his forming claws. He was able to retract them into his skin, similar to a feline. The horns on his head felt taller - not by much. Their growth may be slower than the other parts of his transformation. His lower back felt sore. Perhaps it was due to the way he was sitting earlier while talking to Ferdinand.

There was nothing else to do. His patience would be tested on Ferdinand’s next visit. Tracking the “when” seemed impossible. He could try. On the wall next to his bed, Byleth tested his new claws on the cobblestone. His claw trailed on the stone, leaving a faint, grey mark behind.

That was one “day”. When we woke up next, he’ll draw another mark.

And so he did. 

Every time Byleth woke, he drew another mark. At first, he didn’t care for the mindless task. It became a morning routine.

By the fifth mark, it caused worry. He noticed his stamina had lowered. He was unable to unsheath a claw and draw a line, no matter how much he focused on his nails. His yellow skin darkened, the veins pulsating, ravenous for new life to flow throughout his body. No matter how much this frightened him, he learned something.

It took only six days for him to feel weak once more. That meant he could fare for a short time if Ferdinand was unable to come. Still, his days were numbered. Byleth may die in his sleep tonight.

But he had hope. 

His eyes moved from the ceiling to the rune of hope. The character was a stain in his mind. If he closed his eyes, he could still see it, permeating his dreams. Just a drop of hope was enough to keep going.

By the sixth day, Ferdinand had arrived. He had found it easy to sneak in, considering it was hard to figure out who was who in the faceless garb they wore to check on Byleth. The tray of fresh, wonderful food was slid across the cell bars. It took all of Byleth’s will to not gobble it up like a dog.

Besides bread and water, there was fish - cooked, unfortunately. When he ate it, the spark he felt when devouring the rat was not there. The fish satisfied some corner of his brain.

“Does it taste good?” Ferdinand asked when Byleth had finished. He was fumbling with his bread, having not yet taken a bite.

“It is sufficient. I feel better.” He lowered his head to look at the bones. They might taste good. “The hunger still wavers, and I fear that fish like this will not be enough.”

“What do you mean? You want to eat it _ raw _ ?”

“...Yes.”

“Is it you who wants to eat it raw, or is it something else?” Ferdinand took the tray back before Byleth was able to snatch the bones.

He pretended that his suggestion was silly. “It’s not that strange to have fish raw. From books I’ve read, it is considered a delicacy in other countries. If you don’t believe me, you can always pick up a book and read.”

Ferdinand shrugged. “I suppose it isn’t  _ that _ strange. It’ll be easier to bring it like that than sneaking into the kitchens and holding it over the fire. But are you going to be okay eating it? Raw fish still may make you ill.”

“Then Goddess protect me.” Byleth dryly laughed. He heard a muffled laugh through the hood. Good. It was unnervingly easy how he could knock the suspicion from Ferdinand. Manipulating people was hard, was it not?

He stood up, waving at Byleth. “I will try to come sooner. May the Goddess continue to show her mercy.”

“May the Goddess bless you,” he said, watching Ferdinand leave the cell, locking the door behind him. Once the footsteps became quiet, he tossed the bread over his shoulder and prepared to lay on his straw mat. His stomach was slightly bloated, not used to Byleth eating this much.

The sound of a throat clearing caught his attention.

He froze, chest tightening in dread.

He was not alone.

Byleth turned, expecting that it was only his mind playing tricks on him.

It  _ couldn’t  _ be him. It could not possibly be Hubert. Hubert was not on his left side, standing over him in this fucking cell. Hubert had left so long ago. He shouldn’t be here now. Not when Byleth was in this state. He had nothing but his arms to cover his disfigured body.

But he was.

Hubert cupped his chin so Byleth met his gaze, not minding the tears falling on his gloves. He shuddered, mouth opening to speak, but all that came was clumsy sobs.

“Now, now, Father. It is only me. Hardly worth all this fuss you’re making,” the demon cooed, petting the top of his head. He noticed Byleth’s lack of developed horns, fingers trailing around the nubs. “Oh my poor pet, what did they do to you?” His face twisted in disgust when he really took in Byleth’s appearance, as if in disbelief that humans were capable of doing such things.

Byleth continued to sob, holding onto the demon’s legs like a child. His hands touched the silk, and he began to stroke it.

Hubert gently pulled his leg up, shaking him off. “You are quite demanding for one in your tenuous position.”

“Don’t leave me. Please, Hubert. Don’t leave me again.” He wept, his hands covering his face, body curling into a tight ball. Byleth did not deserve the privilege of this ethereal being’s presence. He yearned for this moment for so long, feeling that it would all be worth it once he saw Hubert again.

But now...now he didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t ready yet.

The demon sat on the ground next to him, allowing Byleth to rest his head on his lap, fingers combing through the knots riddled in his hair. “Hush now, pet. I am here now, and I won’t leave you again. I didn't mean to be away for so long.”

“Do you promise? Promise me that you won’t leave me again.”

“I promise, Byleth. Let me take care of you. Now hush.”

Byleth eyes fluttered. A sudden wave of exhaustion overcame him, and he felt himself drifting off to sleep as the demon stroked his head. “Thank you, Hubert.”


End file.
